


bringing people together

by obsessivelyintrigued



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bruce meets Clark in a different way: i love it! i love bringing people together, Canon-Typical Violence, Clark is literally, Humor, LMAO, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Language, and Bruce is such a drama queen, and i rlly love sassy!clark, not too much tho, srsly its love at first punch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9177595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelyintrigued/pseuds/obsessivelyintrigued
Summary: Based on a tumblr post by clipchip:Superbat alt meeting:Ok, so what if Clark, in an effort to seem as human as possible, wears blue kryptonite when he’s in “Clark Kent” mode. Something inconspicuous and easy to hide or remove, like a coin or a tie pin or something.And what if Bruce thinks he’s figured out who Superman is and decides to meet with him, not knowing what blue kryptonite does. First meeting, or interview, and Clark is his infuriating, polite self, who give away nothing until Bruce decides, fuck it, and punches him. And low and behold, he knocks Clark off his feet, maybe through a small table, and right out into dreamland. KOAnd now Bruce is left to freak out because he just punched a reporter who is apparently not superman like he thought!or;Bruce Wayne is intent on finding Superman and when he puts his mind on something, he rarely make mistakes. But what if this time he really made one and he just knocked out areally cutereporter?





	

**Author's Note:**

> It’s really jarring to call Clark _‘Kent’_ most of the time in here; but it was damn necessary because Bruce is in denial. Unbeta'd.

Bruce Wayne rarely makes mistake. Even in his billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist persona or as the caped crusader of Gotham. He trained himself well enough to make sure there will be little to no room for mistakes on any assignment he takes on - that's why the Bat has been effective; and that's also why everything takes too much work.

 

So it is of no worry that he finally,  _finally_ pinpointed Superman amongst the billions of inhabitants on Earth. It was only a matter of time for him anyway. He is so damn sure that he's right that even if there is any room for mistake, it is so minimal that it can be easily corrected when it comes; or just be genuinely ignored if he deems it so. Whereas Alfred just commented that he will finally get enough rest now that his obsession will be quenched.

  
  
The profile is that of a reporter from the Daily Planet (the one that he actually owns, yes) who grew up in Smallville, Kansas; and now lives in some run-down apartment in Metropolis. Had one relationship with his co-worker - a renowned investigative journalist, Lois Lane. He's pretty normal to just be set aside as a nobody except Bruce knows that he really isn't. The man is nothing but a _nobody._ Tall with broad shoulders and well defined physique that he tries to hide by trying (again) to appear smaller. Blue eyes obscured by thick, black-rimmed glasses, all the sunshine and summer-y smiles and well-trimmed hair; sans the offending suit or plaid that he seems to favour and Bruce knows he'll be attractive enough to be one of Metropolis' top models.

  
  
He had been searching for this man for almost a year. Validating and re-evaluating all of the information he had gathered for at least a quarter of the previous year and now, he will have the opportunity to finally meet the man who wears the red cape. Who, if he might add, willingly came to him by sending him an email asking for an interview. And he's awfully polite about it too.

 

Bruce chuckles at the thought.

  
  
Well, he'd be lying if he says he's not excited at all. He can practically feel the adrenaline rushing through him; the blood pumping through his veins  even now with still a couple of hours before the meeting. He could only do enough to determine if he's right. And despite what Alfred may think, he does bring into mind every piece of advice he gives. He will not try anything too extreme, just something to prove him right and finally know who Superman is.

  
  
"Your coat, master Bruce." Alfred said, handing him a black trench coat to pair his outfit. The older man surveys him, quirking an eyebrow when Bruce tucked a lead lined pen inside his suit jacket. "I do not think that would be necessary, sir."

  
  
Bruce gives him a small smile, "There's no need to be skeptical, Alfred."

  
  
"I have no doubt of your capabilities, sir. But unfortunately, I do not trust that any of these will happen according to what you planned." Alfred retorts. The two walks side by side to the newly polished _Mercedes_ parked right in front of the door of the lake house. "Just one more thing, master Bruce-"

  
  
Turning to Alfred, Bruce stares back to the worried eyes looking at him. "It'll be fine, Alfred. Like I said, he's awfully polite to kill me right there and then if I attempt anything." Bruce emphasized his point by tapping his chest to where he hid the pen in his jacket.

  
  
Alfred scoffs, "I was going to say _do not kill him_ ; he may be awfully polite but you do have your own tendencies-" then he belatedly adds- " _sir_."

  
  
Chuckling, Bruce nods at his butler and slid inside the driver's seat. The vehicle roared to life and he watches through the side mirror as Alfred disappears inside the lake house. Bruce heaves a deep sigh as he pulls out of the gates and out of the estate, there is a pang of worry that never left and continues to nag at the back of his mind. Worry that yes, maybe he is wrong and he'll just embarrass himself in front of a journalist who has every capacity and tool to show it to the world. But on the other hand, he may be right; and his relentless search for the Big Blue will finally come to a conclusion. Knowing that everything he needs and wants is on the other side of fear, Bruce already made up his mind that he will not cease until he finds that alien.

  
  
The ride to the central city was smooth until he encountered the usual morning traffic in Gotham. He idly sits and waits at the confines of his car, appreciating the rush of the city he has grown and learned to protect. While stopped by the red light, Bruce fished the pen from his pocket and raises it against the light; he made the weapon himself from the chunk of kryptonite the Bat garnered from LexCorp. It was made to look like a pen so it could pass as something Bruce Wayne would have with him. A click though, will switch the lead lining back inside the case of the pen and expose the green kryptonite inside. A resounding beep from the vehicle behind him snapped Bruce out of his musings and he hastily puts the pen back to his pockets. He arrived minutes later to the Wayne Tower. The billionaire checks his watch and chuckles. He do have a reputation to uphold, and being late is one of them.   


Once he reached the floor to his office, he was met by his secretary rushing to tell him that they might need to move his following meeting after 'Mr. Kent' due to his late arrival. Bruce brushes her off and tells her _we'll cross the bridge when we get there, sweetheart._

  
  
Taking a deep breath; like one would before a battle, Bruce pushed the door to his office with an apologetic smile already in his face; if only to match Kent's politeness.

  
  
He found the man standing by the floor to ceiling window, messenger bag still on his shoulders. He looks at the Gotham skyline with awe reflecting in his eyes. Bruce knows the view is majestic from up here, and he feels a surge of pride seeing Kent appreciating it as well.

  
  
"I have a painting of that same skyline back in the Manor," Bruce smiles when Kent jump slightly, snapping off of his musings. _As if he didn't hear me coming in,_ he thinks. He adds, "If you want to see it."

  
  
"Mr. Wayne-" Kent turned to him, and the billionaire was momentarily shocked by how blue the man's eyes truly were. He was struck by the thought of how those glasses is truly offending to obscure something like this- "I apologize for- uh, zoning out. Gotham is truly beautiful in the morning."  
  


Bruce blinks fast, staring at what seems to him as a genuine expression on Kent's face. _What is it with this man?_   "It is, isn't it? You should see it during nighttime too. Much more pleasing." He smirks, feeling giddy at his own silly inside joke. He walks towards his table, gesturing to Kent, "Please take a seat, Mr. Kent."  
  


"Thank you, sir." Kent replied. The billionaire's eyes flickered to Kent’s hands as he removes his bag and settle it in his lap. Bruce made an act of checking the folders in his desk, pats his chest and grabs for the pen, putting it on the desk before the both of them.  
  


All the while, Kent was fumbling with the contents of his bag. He was clearly nervous about all this, but Bruce knows that Kent is a sharp interviewer. After reading the articles the journalist has written, he knows that even he might be up for the next Pulitzer. On hindsight, Bruce wonders if he also eats death threats for snacks at the _Planet,_ what's with all that he had exposed. Bruce feels smile tugging at his lips, he knows that Kent will sure hit the right questions and if he doesn’t get the right answer… there will be hell set upon his PA when the article gets published.  
  


When Kent pulled out a paper and his smartphone, Bruce smiles at him and crosses his legs; sitting leisurely on the leather swivel chair he is currently occupying. “Mr. Wayne-” Kent looks at him, pushing his glasses up his nose- “Would it be okay if I use my phone as a recorder?”  


 

“Oh sure-” Bruce gestures with his hand- “I’ve had enough interviews to know these little details, Mr. Kent, you don’t have to worry.”   
  


Bowing his head down, Kent settles his phone next to the billionaire’s pen, trying to hide the color that rises up his cheeks. Bruce quirks an eyebrow, amused that his fairly innocent remark flustered the other man. He wonder why though.  
  


He asked about Luthor’s charity ball two nights ago; Bruce initiated a small talk of how he had seen him there and was surprised he didn't approached, Kent bashfully smiles and admits to his nervousness. Then he asked how it was the first time in a long time that ‘Mr. Wayne’ visited Metropolis; in which Bruce answered vaguely that he actually pays the city a monthly visit since two years ago, looking grim at the memory of the Black Zero event. Kent, obviously feeling his feigned - _his interviewer doesn’t have to know his true sentiment on that topic,_ Bruce thinks- discomfort chose to avoid the topic. He delved into Bruce’s life in Gotham, the company, his numerous charities and flings alike to his childhood that eventually led to his parents; all of which Bruce answered in a mirror of the journalist’s politeness. But as Kent talks, Bruce was getting riled up by how civil and well-mannered Kent is ‘acting’ in front of him. The tiny movements such as how he runs the palm of his hand on his clothed thigh as though wiping the sweat from his nervousness, _does he even sweat?_  The way he takes down notes even when there is already a recording, how some of his nervousness are given away by how he speaks; but through it all he really _is_ awfully polite about this and it infuriates Bruce right down to his core.   
  


“Uhm- that’s about it, Mr. Wayne, but-” Kent scratches at his left brow, looking torn- “Can I ask you one last question?”  
  


Bruce straightened in his seat and nodded for him to go on. Noticing how his shoulders stiffened, Bruce followed with his gaze the way Kent licked his lips, swallowing a lump in his throat as if he’s about to drop a bomb on the billionaire.  
  


“What’s your position on the bat vigilante in Gotham?”  
  


Shifting his gaze, Bruce raises an eyebrow at the question. “Civil liberties are being trampled on in your city, “ Kent continued, and Bruce wants to grin in triumph. So this is the real Clark Kent from Smallville, Kansas. He notes how the reporter stares at him head on as if he is also waiting for him to give away something, his earlier clumsy and polite persona sheds to the strict and serious one intent on getting the answer right out of him and Bruce… Bruce feels a tingle run up his spine, his arm down to his hand, he so wants to punch the infuriating alien in front of him. “Good people living in fear.”  
  


Tilting his head slightly, Bruce fixed his interviewer a gaze that would make lesser men weak on the knees. He licked his lower lip before answering, “Don’t believe everything you hear, son.”  
  


Kent cocked his head at the remark, blinking as if he's only seeing Bruce for the first time.

 

“I’ve seen it, Mr. Wayne,” Kent insists, “He thinks he’s above the law.”  
  


Bruce let a smug smirk grace his features, “The Daily Planet criticizing those who think they’re above the law is a little hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?” He almost wants to chuckle at the way Kent discreetly clenches his jaw, “Considering every time your hero saves a cat out of a tree, you write a puff piece editorial, about an alien who-” he uncrossed his legs to lean on his desk, gaze trained on Kent's piercing blue eyes- “if he wanted to, could burn the whole place down. There wouldn’t be a damn thing we could do to stop him.”  
  


“Most of the world doesn’t share your opinion, Mr. Wayne.” Kent says, leveling him with his own gaze.  
  


“Maybe it’s the Gotham city in me-” Bruce smirks at him, eyes drooping as though he’d gotten bored of the conversation- “We just have a bad history with freaks dressed like clowns.”  
  


It took a fraction too long for either of them to respond but Bruce feels like it took an eternity. They kept staring at each other and the vigilante feels like that blue gaze is piercing him, literally, searching him to know the truth, to know _something._ And it was jarring to feel the creeping thought that maybe his inquisition have gone awry and turned right back at him. He’s getting impatient and really, if he doesn’t see any window of opportunity to see if he is right soon; he’s gonna make one himself.   
  


Kent nods, “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne.” The reporter stood up and Bruce followed his queue. He steps to the side of his huge glass table to shake hands with him.  
  


“Thank you so much as well for bothering to go to Gotham for this.” Bruce said, watching as the other man gathers his stuff. He slipped the paper containing his questions to his notebook then grabbed his phone from the table, Kent slings his bag to his shoulder and Bruce decides _oh fuck it._    


He balled his fist and put almost all of his effort to the punch that hit the other man square in the jaw, sending him stumbling as well as knocking back the swivel chair he was occupying seconds ago; the thud of him hitting the ground was slightly silenced by the carpeted floor. Bruce stares, his eyes widening at the sight before him: the man he thought to be Superman was knocked out by his punch, eyes closed and a bruise already forming at his jaw due to the intensity of the attack, the pendant of the necklace he was hiding beneath his plaid button-down lying on the floor beside his head.

  
Rushing to his side, Bruce remembered and swiftly ran towards the door of his office. Thank _fuck_ for him thinking about privacy and avoided his office to have glass walls or doors just like the rest of the building. The billionaire locked the door and removed his tight grasp on the knob to rush back to the poor, knocked out journalist who is still fast asleep on the floor; hoping his secretary wouldn’t come questioning the commotion.   


He covers a hand to his mouth, contemplating what to do as he kneels on one knee beside the man. Okay, he may have exerted too much force but _what the hell_ , he didn't know the man wasn't Superman! Shaking his head as if to snap out of a reverie, Bruce places a hand on the man's neck to locate his pulse: it was still beating steadily but the bruise forming on his jaw will definitely take time to heal. _Heck,_ Bruce hopes he didn't dislocate anything. The billionaire runs his finger softly on the injury he caused, worry creasing his eyebrow.   


Looking up, Bruce takes in the state of his office; everything else seems normal. A couple of bookshelves lined up on one side, leather couch facing the flat screen TV with two single seats on either side. All is fine and dandy except for the swivel chair Kent was occupying minutes ago which was thrown back, the man's bag lying on it. Bruce quickly fixes that and proceeds to arrange the cushions on the couch. He runs a hand on his face afterwards, standing beside the still unconscious man.  


Placing his jacket on the on the couch, Bruce sighs, moving to carry the journalist. He carefully places the man's arm around his shoulder and he places his own under Kent's knees to carry him bridal style. And if it weren't for his training as the 'bat vigilante of Gotham', Bruce knows he will not be able to carry a dead weight such as Clark Kent.  


He grunts as he stands, ignoring the necklace that slipped off of the reporter's neck. He kept his eyes on the man's face, looking for any sign of wakefulness as he lays him down, being extra mindful of his head. He was arranging the man’s legs to get him comfortable when -

 

“You’re cute when you’re worried, Mr. Wayne.”

 

Bruce freezes, _what the actual f-_

 

“And I’ll be honest with you now, I thought you were handsome two nights ago. But you’re _really_ handsome in a more close-up position too.”

 

_Position, handsome- two nights ago, honest. What-_

 

Taking a deep breath, Bruce briefly closes his eyes before standing. He looms over the now conscious man and declares, “You’re Superman.”

 

Clark Kent stares at him, shocked. Then his face morphed into one expression of mischief; replying, “Do you want me to be honest on that one too?”

 

Grabbing his collar, Bruce pins the man down on the couch and moves on top of him, feeling satisfied with the surprise look that flashed across Kent’s face. “It wasn’t a question, _Mr. Kent._ ”

 

Kent licked his lips and Bruce’s gaze flicker to follow the action. “If you’re on top of me on a couch, I’m sure you can call me Clark now… Bruce.” Clark retorts, his tone questioning when he says the billionaire’s name.

 

Bruce narrowed his eyes, “ _You_ -” he paused, realizing that Clark was right and he _is_ lying on top of him on a very compromising position supposing anyone would come in. “You’re bruise is gone.”

 

“Oh,” Clark says, mildly surprised as he gingerly touch his jaw, “Right," he sounds almost dejected at the fact, like he didn't realized it moments ago, "The necklace slipped.”

 

“Necklace?”

 

“It’s blue kryptonite." 

 

"You said that as if it explains why a single punch knocked you out." Bruce said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

 

Clark sighs, "The effects are stronger when its in direct contact with me; completely stripping me off of my powers. Besides you have a really strong punch.”

 

“Why would you want to be stripped off of your powers?” Bruce asked, eyes still narrowed suspiciously.

 

Looking at anything but Bruce, _of course_ that's what will remain in him and not the compliment Clark had hoped would distract him; he's the _goddamn Batman_ after all. Clark swallowed the lump in his throat, if he really want Bruce Wayne’s help -on whatever he knows Luthor is planning- at the cost of his secret then so be it, “To feel... human.”

 

Bruce didn’t reply, but he feels his hand loosening its grip on Clark’s collar. Clark covers his hand with his, staring back at his own hazel eyes. Bruce adjusts in his position, letting the other man sit up even with him still on top.

 

“And you’re Batman.” Clark whispers between them, “I need your help.”

 

It was supposed to freak Bruce out even more, make him angrier that an alien played him, that an alien found out his secret. But as he stare at those blue eyes and the desperation swimming in it, he asks, “What do you need help for?”

  
  
Clark smiles at him, and it was the brightest thing Bruce have ever seen in a long, long time.


End file.
